He Ain't Heavy
by Lasrevinu
Summary: Sara gets a little too involved in a case. FINISHED
1. Part I

Disclaimer: Pfffft. Don't own 'em.

Rating: T

Spoilers: If it has aired, it's fair game.

Summary: Sara gets a little too involved in a case. GSR

A/N: This is Part I of II.

**__**

He Ain't Heavy

Part I

They sat together, huddled in his office, well into the start of the dayshift. The lab was bustling around them, almost all of the day and swing employees working on the disappearance of the mayor's daughter. She had failed to come home the night before from a friend's party and they city was up in arms trying to find her. Though Catherine had recommended Gil lend a hand in helping find the girl for political reasons, the entomologist knew his particular expertise would only come in handy if she turned up dead, covered in maggots. Every angle was already being worked by his colleagues, and there were other cases, equally important, that he had to attend to. With Sara.

She had approached him with her case midway through shift. It seemed open and shut at first glance. A women was found raped and beaten to death in the stairwell of the Bellagio. Surveillance showed a tall, thin man with flaming red hair enter the stairway and then leave almost a half hour later, at their Jane Doe's time of death. The surveillance photo of the man was immediately distributed to the media and shown on the news. A desk clerk at the MGM Grand called the tip line only an hour after the picture first aired and informed authorities that the suspect was a guest in one of the suites, a Mr. Giovanni Barzini. Sara had rushed to the MGM to question Barzini and when he opened the door to his suite, she was met with the face of the man on the tape. He was cordial enough until she showed him the picture from the surveillance camera at the Bellagio. He claimed innocence of course, but they had enough to take him down to the station.

Grissom sat back in his desk chair and sighed. "I feel like I've been staring at the same page for hours."

"Let's talk ourselves through this again. Maybe we missed something."

"Sara, his DNA matched the semen found in our vic. We've got tape of him going in and out of the crime scene," Grissom continued, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes.

"But his prints weren't found anywhere at the scene or on the doors we know he touched," she argued.

"He wore gloves," Grissom surmised. "Sara, DNA doesn't lie. And this guy doesn't have an alibi." He looked at Barzini's statement made to the police after he was taken into custody. "He says he had taken some migraine medication and went to bed early. Nice fairy tale."

"I counted his pills. It was a new prescription and two pills were missing."

"He probably took them earlier, or tried to cover his tracks by flushing them," Grissom guessed. "We have video of him entering the MGM."

"But no video of him leaving the Bellagio," Sara pointed out. "He's clever enough to escape the cameras at one hotel but not the other? How do you explain that?"

"I can't, but the DNA places him at the scene. He denied ever having sex with the victim prior to that. Semen doesn't magically fly to crime scenes to implicate innocent people."

She rolled her eyes at this. "We're missing something." She refocused on Barzini's mug shot. "How could he be there, but not be there?"

"There aren't two of him," Grissom sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Why are you so sure he didn't do this?"

Sara pressed her lips together and stared at his diplomas on the wall. She had always prided herself on her rational mind, and any rational person could see that Giovanni Barzini was guilty. All the evidence pointed to him. But as she looked into Barzini's eyes, she didn't feel his guilt. Jane Doe had been brutally raped and murdered. When faced with such a violent killer, one usually feels something emanating from their soul, be it smug satisfaction or a sense of achievement or a dissatisfaction at finally being caught. Sara had seen it in her mother's eyes when she finally let go of the knife, letting it drop onto the white bedspread. It was the high of a killer. Laura Sidle had it. Giovanni Barzini...didn't.

But that wasn't something Sara could explain to Grissom. He'd think she was as crazy as her mother. No, Sara had to use logic to prove herself correct.

A quick knock on the door was followed by a very tired looking Mia. "The DNA from your case..."

"Matches our suspect," Grissom interrupted. "We know."

"It also matches two cases from 2004," Mia said, handing Sara a file. "One in Burbank and another in Dayton. Your suspect is a business man, right?"

"Uh...yeah," Sara said, staring at the pictures from previous cases. The crime scenes were staged the same way, same M.O.

"Well, has he made any trips to Burbank and Dayton?" Mia inquired.

Grissom raised his eyebrows and picked up his phone. "Let's find out."

Mia left them alone as Grissom called Brass to get an idea of Barzini's 2004 business itinerary. He made some non-committal noises as he listened to the detective on the other line, leaving Sara to wonder if the information he was receiving would exonerate or further incriminate Barzini.

Grissom hung up the phone and Sara held her breath. "The timeline fits," he told her. "He was in Burbank in March '04 when Camilla James was murdered at a Hilton. And he was in Dayton last July when Darcy Thompson was killed outside of a Holiday Inn. He's guilty, Sara."

"What about the prints?" she asked pragmatically.

"We'll check, Sara, but even if his prints don't show, this is more evidence than we need to convict."

She sat back in her chair, defeated. Usually when cases came together like this, she felt a mixture of excitement and relief. But as she stared up at the ceiling, Sara felt nothing but a sense of uneasiness. Something wasn't right. "Barzini, Barzni," she whispered under her breath. Her gut was telling her he was innocent.

"Too bad for him he doesn't have any mob ties to get him out of this," Grissom said, tossing the case file on his desk where it landed in front of Sara, Giovanni Barzini's mug shot staring at her.

"Excuse me?" Sara asked, sitting up in her chair.

"You know, Barzini..._The Godfather_...Emilio Barzini is a character in the movie," Grissom explained. "You _have _seen _The Godfather_, haven't you?"

Sara didn't answer. She picked up the case file and studied the photo. The red hair framed a bony but handsome face. The piercing blue eyes were shades lighter than Grissom's and the skin was milky pale, the kind that probably burned if he stayed more than five minutes in the sun without SPF 45.

"He's not Italian."

"And you know this because..."

She handed him the picture. "Look at him. Does he look like his ancestors came from anywhere near the Mediterranean? He's pale as an ass."

"Well, his name is plenty ethnic, Sara. And maybe his mother was Irish or something," Grissom said, trying to justify the red hair. "It doesn't matter. His ethnicity has nothing to do with his guilt."

Sara pulled out the report she had on Giovanni Barzini. "Father: Carmine Angelo Barzini. Mother: Giovanna Margherita Barzini. Don't you get it? He was adopted!"

Grissom stared at her, vaguely concerned. "Sara, that doesn't mean anything. His DNA was at all three crime scenes."

Sara would have nothing of it. "You said there aren't two of him," she said quickly. "Maybe there are."

She quickly got to work and called Barzini's parents who were all too willing to give whatever information they could to protect their precious only child. They had flown to Vegas the moment they found out their son was in trouble, along with Barzini's wife and two young children. Sara met with them at the police station and escorted them into a small office so they could talk privately. Mrs. Barzini blew her nose and Mr. Barzini looked rather grim.

"Was Giovanni...adopted?"

Mrs. Barzini sobbed and Mr. Barzini nodded his head. "But he's _our _baby," Giovanna said, her accent heavy. "We wanted them both but she wanted to keep one..."

Sara nodded her head numbly. She felt...justified. She wasn't crazy. Her gut was right. "He's got a twin," she remarked, more of a statement than a question.

"The woman...she kept him. Gio's brother. She could not afford them both," Carmine explained.

"Do you know her name? Where is he now?" Sara asked, her questions coming rapidly.

Giovanna sobbed as she gave Sara the name of her son's birth mother. "Memory like elephant," Carmine said quietly, kissing his wife on the cheek.

They found him within the city limits ten hours later. Virgil Montgomery had his brother's face, but when Sara sat down across from him at the interrogation table, she felt the presence of a killer. After presenting Montgomery with a list of the evidence they had against him, Sara expected some form of denial to pour from his lips. Most criminals spun stories even when it was hopeless. But Virgil Montgomery wasn't one for fables.

"He had my life."

"Excuse me?" Sara asked, bewildered.

"That could've been me with the fancy car and the fancy wife. Healthy kids," Virgil spat out, his Southern accent thick as molasses. "A 50/50 shot I'd've been living the high life. But no, my mom had to keep me."

"So…you followed your biological brother around the country and killed women in the places he was staying hoping he would be blamed for your crimes?"

Virgil shrugged. "Yeah. So what? And I was hoping the bastard would get caught, too. I was damn near close if you hadn't stuck your pretty little nose in it." Though his public defender had tried numerous times to keep his client under control, Virgil was having none of it. "I watch TV; I know how it is. Where do I sign my statement?"

Brass took over from there and Sara left the room, tired but relieved. She found Grissom waiting for her, his lips pursed in thought.

"Sara Sidle, you hear hoof beats and think zebras. I'm sure Giovanni Barzini thanks you."

She laughed at that as they walked out of the police station. "My kindergarten teach told me that once."

"You were solving murders when you were five?" Grissom asked coyly as they got to their SUV's, parked side by side.

Sara shook her head. "During story time…"

"Story time?"

"Yes, story time," she said, smirking as she leaned back against her car. "We all would get in a circle and she would read us something or other. One day, she read us 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.'"

"Ah yes," Grissom sighed. "The young shepherd who falsely convinces the townspeople he's being attacked by wolves and it, shall we say, comes back to bite him in the ass in the end."

"I don't think Mrs. Palmer phrased it that way," Sara laughed. "But basically, yeah. The one time he's actually getting attacked by wolves, no one believes him."

"And where do the zebras come in?"

"After the story I raised my hand and asked Mrs. Palmer why someone didn't stay with him the first time he cried wolf."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "And why would someone stay with him? He lied."

"Well, why would he cry wolf in the first place?" Sara asked. "He was lonely."

Grissom considered this and Sara continued. "Everyone assumes that the shepherd is a jerk. But he just wants company." She watched him digest what she said and grow uncomfortable. "I…guess I'll go now. Goodbye, Grissom."

"Goodbye," he said, his voice gravelly. "And good job, Sara."

She gave him a sad, small smile and got in her SUV. It seemed as if she had been on the case forever. The sky was beginning to grow dark and Sara hadn't seen the inside of her apartment in more than twenty-four hours. When she got home, a shower was first on her list. The grime of the day was cleaned off under the hot spray. Sara thought back to the case and why it was so important to her. Her gut had told her it was special. Something about Giovanni Barzini's eyes pleaded with her to save him. It had been a long while since Sara had felt someone truly depend on her. As the years went by, instead of feeling more secure in her job, Sara felt like she was on increasingly shaky territory. This case grounded her. She needed something to ground her and this was it. One brother was a cold-blooded killer and the other a blameless man.

There was no murder gene.

Sara stepped out of the shower. A loud knock had her throwing on her robe and rushing to her from door. She felt her face flush as she remembered her last conversation with Grissom. He had looked as if he had something to say on the tip of his tongue and she wondered if he had come to her to say it.

But the bright red hair in the fisheye dashed Sara's hopes. She pulled the neckline of her robe tighter and opened the door.

"Mr. Barzini…" she smiled, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, I'm sorry for disturbing you," he said, stepping inside. "I just had to thank you, Miss Sidle."

"Well, you're, uh…welcome."

He shook his head. "I was sitting in jail only hours ago in a jumpsuit as orange as my hair," he chuckled, "and now I'm free. Because of you. You looked deeper."

Sara raised her brows. "Uh…all in a day's work."

"I knew you would…when I saw you," he said. "I knew you would figure it out."

"Thanks." Sara pulled the neckline tighter.

"I knew you'd save me the moment I saw you," he sighed. "You worked so hard and then I was free. Just the way it should be."

"Okay."

"Just the way I planned."

"You planned?"

"Do you know what I didn't plan, Miss Sidle?"

Sara backed up, shaking her head. "No."

"I didn't plan on you being so beautiful. So irresistible," Barzini sighed. "This was all supposed to end. The cops barely missed me with the Duluth one. It was supposed to end in Vegas. I'd quench my thirst once more and he'd take the rap."

"He? Your brother? Why would he…"

"Brotherly love," Barzini told her before breaking out into laughter. "No. His kid is sick. Leukemia. I paid for her treatment."

"So he'd take the fall?"

Barzini nodded.

"You'd do that to your own brother?" Sara asked, appalled.

"Hey, he didn't have to grow up knowing he was the one she gave up," Barzini said, all at once getting angry.

"But your parents love you."

"And I love them. But I wasn't good enough for that bitch of a biological mother."

"That doesn't make any sense," Sara said, trying to calm him. "You two are identical."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Barzini told her. "That bitch is dead. I killed her years ago. And she's not the reason I'm here right now. You are, Miss Sidle."

Her gun was in her bedroom. She could make a mad dash for it, but Barzini looked fast. He was thin and wiry and could probably overpower her without much of a problem.

"Me?"

He nodded. "I was going to give it all up…until I saw you. But now…now I need one more taste."

TBC…


	2. Part II

A/N: To clear up any confusion, identical twins do have the same DNA. They share the same genotype, but different phenotypes, meaning they have the same DNA, but that DNA can manifest itself in different ways, so they have different fingerprints and physical characteristics (i.e. moles, beauty marks, etc.). And did I say two parts? I meant three. This story will have three parts.

Part II

Sara slowly to backward steps towards her kitchen. If she could reach the butcher block on the counter, she'd have a fighting chance. All she needed to do was distract him long enough to reach the knives.

"Why? Why now? When you were home free?"

"You're so lovely. You don't even know it, do you?" Barzini asked, shaking his head. You remind me of my first one. College sweetheart…my wife's best friend, actually. She was planning on breaking up with me. I read it in her diary." He sighed at the memory. "But she never got a chance to," Barzini smirked.

Sara felt her stomach seize. "What did you do with the body?"

"I burned it," he told her. "Megan was a free spirit. Everyone just assumed she'd ran off on an adventure."

"How many since then?" Sara asked, feeling ice-cold fear coat her bones as she took another tiny step backwards.

"Eleven after Megan, including my biological mother." Barzini paused for a moment and considered. He looked back at Sara and smiled. "You'll be lucky number thirteen."

She felt the edge of the counter hit her back. There was no time to over think it. Sara grabbed for a knife and foisted it out of the butcher block. Barzini took a step back momentarily, but then smiled wickedly at her.

"You'll fight back," he surmised almost pleasantly. "You don't know how boring it is when they just lie there."

Sara held the knife in front of her, ready to battle to the death. Every rape she had ever processed came back to haunt her. She could feel the soul of Linley Parker stand by her shoulder, urging her to stay strong. Kaye Shelton was by her side, too. And young Susanna Kirkwood. They were all there, the ghosts of cases past, solved and unsolved. They filled the room and surrounded Barzini, her own personal army.

And Sara found the will to fight.

She darted forward, scaring Barzini. He almost tripped on his own feet as he stumbled backwards. She felt a surge of strength. All of a sudden, she was every battered woman who fought back. She was her mother. Sara took another step forward.

"Sara."

Her name came from the other side of the door, along with three knocks on the wood frame.

She dropped her knife.

The weapon clattered on the floor, the shine of the metal matching the glint in Barzini's eye. He smirked at her. There was no way she could reach for the knife now. He had longer arms. She kicked the handle of the blade clear across the room and watched it sail on the hardwood floor as Grissom knocked on her door again, calling her name a little louder.

Barzini grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, claming his free hand on her mouth as he held her bodily. She could feel his erection at her back and it sickened her. Grissom was on the other side of the unlocked door, but she couldn't yell out to him. At her every attempt to struggle, Barzini would just find another way to keep her still. The skin of his palm over her mouth was surprisingly smooth. Sara opened her lips slightly, baring her teeth. She pushed her head forward and he rammed his hand back against her mouth. A tiny piece of his skin slipped between her teeth and she bit down hard.

"You bitch!" he shrieked, letting her go, his uninjured hand smacking her cheek and causing her to stumble.

Her front door opened and from her place on the floor, Sara could see Grissom's body in the doorframe. She could see it took him a moment to register what was going on, but before she could do more than blink, he had his gun out of his holster.

She quickly got to her feet, holding her breath as she watched both men stare each other down.

"Did he hurt you, Sara?" Grissom asked, his eyes laser-focused on Barzini.

"No, I'm fine," she managed.

"Honey," he intoned slowly, "call 911." Grissom kept the gun trained on Barzini.

He made a grab for her. For the second time in minutes, Sara found herself in Barzini's arms.

"I'll snap her neck, old man," Barzini threatened.

Grissom's expression was blank.

Barzini opened his mouth to continue his threats, but Grissom pulled the trigger before the criminal could say another word. Three shots echoed through Sara's apartment. She felt Barzini's grip on her slacken as his warm blood bathed her neck and back. Grissom took several steps forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her in back of him as he stepped forward to look at the dying man. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

Sara could faintly hear his conversation with the 911 dispatcher and then with Brass. The gunshots were still ringing in her ears. She wanted badly to say something, to thank him, to run into his arms. But she was covered in blood. She was evidence. After he hung up the phone, Grissom stole a glance at Sara and then walked purposely towards her. "They're coming now," he told her quietly, and then pulled her robe closed, belting it tightly. Sara looked up at him, alarmed. She hadn't even felt the cool air on her chest. She could feel the blush rise up into her cheeks. His face remained fixed and unresponsive.

The cops swarmed her apartment complex, handling her curious neighbors and securing the crime scene. Brass took Grissom's statement and then held out his hand for his gun. Grissom placed it in the detective's palm and then put both hands in his pockets. Sara could feel herself shake with fear, but knew she couldn't sit down. Barzini's blood was all over her.

"Sara. Sara?"

She turned at the soft, Texan whisper of her name. Nick smiled gently at her. Sara could see how he itched to reach out and comfort her, but the scientist in him held back.

"Sara, sweetheart, I need to process the evidence on you," he told her as he led her to a quiet part of her apartment. She nodded her head and he started to swab the drying blood on her neck and arm. He took out his camera and pushed up one of her sleeves with a gloved hand. Sara could see the tendons in Nick's neck twitch as he photographed the newly forming bruises on her wrist and cheek. "Sara, I'll need that robe," he whispered. "You can, uh, wash the blood off you now. Just…leave the robe on the bathroom door handle." He looked like he was in pain. She tried to smile and put him at ease. "Sara, I'm…I'm glad you're okay."

"I am, too, Nick. Thank you."

The blood in her hair was caked dry. The strands seemed stiff as wire. She shampooed it twice, watching Barzini's blood swirl into the drain. She scrubbed her skin raw, turning every place Barzini may have touched from pale white to bright pink. The water scalded, but Sara didn't care. It was washing him off of her.

She took an extra long shower in hopes that most of the circus that was currently occupying her living room would be gone. Grissom would still be there, that much she knew. Sara didn't know what she would say to him once they were alone. He had saved her life. He had killed to save her. And while Barzini was an insane criminal, he was an insane criminal that was let onto the street because of her poor judgment. She in no way deserved what happened to her, but Sara knew she partly contributed to putting herself in danger. And she was the reason that Grissom, a man that had never used his gun in the line of duty in almost thirty years, had now taken a life. He was a peace-loving man, unlike so many police officers she knew who went to gun clubs on the weekends or hunted innocent animals for sport. There was no way he could just chalk this up to another day on the job. He killed a man and it was her fault.

Sara dried herself off and slipped into her terrycloth bathrobe. She opened the door slightly and made sure no one was in the hallway as she made a break for her bedroom. Comfort beat out style and after a few minutes, Sara walked tentatively to her living room. Only Grissom and Brass were left. The detective smiled kindly and she tried to smile back, but all she could think of was the blood on Grissom's hands because of her.

"Gil, I think I'll get going," he said. "Goodbye, Sara." Brass lightly touched her elbow before making his exit.

Sara took a deep breath. "Grissom, I…"

"Pack a bag of your things," he told her abruptly. "I called the crime scene clean up guys." Grissom absentmindedly gestured to the pools of blood still covering the floor. "You can stay with me until your place is back to normal."

"Grissom, you don't have to…"

"Sara, I'm really not up for any arguments," he told her, rubbing his eyes. "I'm too tired. Just get your things and let's get out of here."

TBC…


	3. Part III

Part III

His house seemed bigger than she remembered it. Or maybe she just felt smaller. Sara thought back four years to the last time she had been in Grissom's home. The team was working to catch the Strip Strangler and she had been pumped: eager to stop the serial rapist and just a little bit giddy to be in her boss's sanctuary.

This time it was different. She was the one who had almost been the victim of rape and he was so much more than a boss to her now.

She stood still at the entranceway, arms crossed in front of her, as Grissom locked his front door. "Are you hungry?" he asked blankly.

Sara shook her head. He swung her duffle bag over his shoulder, placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, and quietly led her down a small hallway.

"You can sleep here," Grissom told her, swinging a door open to reveal a rather large bedroom. Sara bit her lip. It had be the master bedroom. His townhouse was large, but this bedroom couldn't be a spare.

"Is this…is this your room?" she asked quickly. "Because if it is -- Grissom, I'm fine with staying at a hotel."

He just stared at her stonily and placed her duffle bag on the floor. "Goodnight, Sara."

He closed the door and left her alone. Sara sighed and lifted her bag off of the floor and onto the end of the bed. She took a moment to study the room. The large bed with its mahogany frame should've clashed with the cool, almost hospital-like tones of the rest of the room, but it worked, oddly enough. There were no photographs on the nightstand, just a bottle of water and a field guide for North American birds. There was a seashell on his dresser along with an extra pair of glasses, some books, and a framed baseball card. Roger Maris.

Maybe a few years ago she would have taken advantage of the fact that she was alone in Grissom's bedroom and peeked in his underwear drawer or checked under the bed for little hidden trinkets, but the walls were too high between them now. Finding some random Playboys or an old letter from an ex-girlfriend wouldn't give Sara a better idea of who Grissom was. He didn't want her to know him and so she knew she must resign herself to the fact that she never would.

She pulled of her shirt and began to undo her jeans when she caught her reflection in the large mirror above the dresser. It was all so odd, she thought to herself, taking off her clothes in Grissom's room. So many times she had imagined doing that very thing, imagined him laying on the bed eyeing her hungrily while she did a slow striptease.

Sara huffed and quickly pulled the jeans down her hips, picking them off the floor and shoving them in her bag along with her shirt. She pulled out a tank top and a pair of sweats and changed into them as quickly as possible. Grissom had seen her body after the attack. He had gone so far as to close her robe for her. Sara had blushed but he hadn't. He dealt with her like he would any victim of a crime, cool and detached.

All throughout her life Sara had worked to avoid being labeled a victim. Victims were helpless. They were at the mercy of others. She pulled back the covers and sunk down onto the bed as it hit her. Ever since the day she met him, Sara had been helplessly and hopelessly in love with Grissom. Ever since she moved to Las Vegas she had been at the mercy of his actions.

Love was a lot like a crime.

Sara's head hit the pillow and she could feel herself drift off immediately, her heart heavy with old and new pain. The linens smelled like Grissom and it was oddly comforting. Wrapping herself in the comforter, she could imagine that his arms were holding her, keeping her safe and warm and wishing her sweet dreams.

She opened her eyes after what could've been minutes or hours. He was sitting on the chair by the bed, staring at her.

"Go back to sleep."

Sara could feel herself smile sleepily at him and obey, reaching her hand out towards him to grasp nothing but air. _So far away_, she thought as she closed her eyes. Like that Carole King song her mother used to play all the time. _If I could only work this life out my way, I'd rather spend it bein' close to you_. She laughed into her pillow, wondering if she had dreamt it all -- her father's death, her mother's incarceration, Harvard, the handsome, aloof man she spent her adult life chasing.

The sun was filtering through the slats in the wooden blinds the next time Sara opened her eyes. The chair was still there, but it was empty. She sat up in bed and debated her next move. Her stomach was rumbling, she had to pee, and she needed coffee.

But more importantly, she had to get out of Grissom's house.

She would thank him for everything and then leave quickly. As she retrieved clean clothes and underwear from her duffle bag, Sara called for a cab. She wanted it waiting outside of the townhouse when she said goodbye. It would be easier that way. After dressing, Sara packed up her things and made the bed. She grabbed her toothbrush and put her hand on the doorknob, turning it silently so as not to alert Grissom. Sara walked the few feet down the hallway to the bathroom and grasped the handle again.

"You're awake."

She emitted a high pitched squeak and dropped her toothbrush, the small piece of plastic clattering on the floor. Grissom bent down and picked it up.

"Sorry. I'll get you a new one." He placed his hand on top her hers, which was still gripping the door handle, and turned. They walked into the bathroom together. Sara stood awkwardly while Grissom opened a cabinet near the sink to retrieve a new toothbrush for her.

"Thank you," she said as he handed it to her. She opened the package and tossed the wrapping in the wastepaper basket.

"The toothpaste is here," Grissom said, opening the medicine cabinet for her.

She reached in and picked up the tube of Crest. "Thank you."

Sara waited a moment, wondering when he would leave. Brushing one's teeth in front of another person wasn't exactly akin to going to the bathroom in front of them, but it was still rather…intimate. She unscrewed the cap and squeezed some toothpaste onto the bristles and got to work. She could feel the color rise in her cheeks. _Why the hell is he still here?_ she asked herself. Their eyes met in the mirror and Grissom was the first to turn away.

"I'll, uh, be outside. Call me if you need anything."

Sara spit in the sink.

When she was finished, she checked her watch. The cab would be there to pick her up in any minute. It was time to say goodbye. Sara hoisted her duffle bag onto her shoulder and walked out into the living room where Grissom seemed to be waiting for her.

"What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"I called a cab."

"To…go where?"

"Home," she said simply.

"Sara, you can't go home. The scene hasn't been cleared yet."

"I thought you said you were calling for crime scene clean up."

"They were backed up," he explained.

She stayed silent for a moment as she considered this. "I guess I'll go to a hotel, then."

"You can stay here."

"No, I think it would be better if--"

"Stay here."

A horn beeped outside, the noise muffled by the walls of the townhouse. "That's…my cab."

"Stay here," Grissom repeated.

"But I--"

"Please."

It was just like always. She was at his mercy. "I'll…go tell the cabdriver he can go."

When she returned, he asked her what she wanted to eat. They would have to order because he hadn't been shopping since he began working all hours on the Barzini case. "Is pizza okay?"

"Pizza is fine."

She flipped through an old copy of National Geographic as they waited. When the pizza came, they ate in silence. Sara made sure her mouth was always full so she wouldn't have to say anything. Grissom's eyes would occasionally wander over the bruises on her wrist or the mark on her face, both courtesy of her scuffle with the now dead criminal. Her injuries seemed to bother him more than they did her.

As they cleaned up their plates, Sara cleared her throat. "I never, uh…thanked you for, uh…you know."

He stared at her but said nothing as he took her plate from her hands and loaded it into the dishwasher.

"It was, uh…a lucky coincidence that you were there."

"Yes," Grissom said quietly as he put dishwashing liquid into the machine.

Sara narrowed her eyes. "Why were you coming over in the first place?" It hadn't occurred to her until then Grissom's very presence at her doorstep was cause for alarm.

"I was just checking up on you," he said as he looked down at his hands.

"Oh." She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. "Well…thank you. Very much."

Nothing more was said as they sat on opposite ends of the couch. Sara picked up a book on Renaissance art while Grissom read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. She would repeatedly check her watch, hoping time would tick away faster. Sara remembered a time where she could smile and laugh with Grissom and tell him everything on her mind. Ten years ago she would've been stopping at every other page in the art book to show him something she liked or something she thought was hideous. Ten years ago he would've made her guess just how Sherlock Holmes had solved the case in his story.

But as it was they sat on either end of the couch wondering what the other was thinking.

Sara put down her book. "Can I use your computer to check my e-mail?" She almost smiled at her brilliant excuse to leave the room and break some of the tangible tension between them.

"Of course," he said, and surprised her by getting up to lead her to his office.

He pulled out the desk chair for her so she could sit down, and stood by her as she clicked on to the internet. After a moment, he cleared his throat, told her to call if she needed anything, and then left her alone.

Sara signed and sat back in the chair, happy to relax away from Grissom. She was so self-conscious around him, completely aware of the elephant in the room, yet unwilling to speak of it. Every conversation they seemed to have over the past few years would veer into territory that made one or both of them uncomfortable. They couldn't share because they both knew that once the floodgates were open, there would be no turning back.

She logged on and checked her inbox. It was depressingly empty, save for a few offers for Viagra and free online credit reports. She didn't know why she was surprised. She had no contacts. She never made a friend in high school and had lost touch with her college acquaintances. The only person she had ever bothered to keep in touch with over the years was several feet away, immersed in Sherlock Holmes.

Suddenly, Sara wanted to go back into the living room. She wanted to sit close to Grissom and make him talk to her. She wanted to put his arm around her neck and snuggle up against him so she could read alongside him. She wanted to grip him for dear life because, in reality, he was it for her. It was depressing, she surmised as she pushed herself up out of the seat. No matter how hard she tried, he'd always be several feet away.

When she wandered back into the living room, he looked up at her and then checked his watch.

"Would you like to do anything, Sara?"

"What do you mean?" she asked immediately.

"Do you want me to rent you a video? Do you want to go out to eat?" he asked. "The movies? What?"

_Is he joking?_ "No, I'm fine. I can just…read a book or something. Please don't feel the need to entertain me. I'm fine," she stressed. "If you have to go to work or something…"

"No, no. I don't."

She slumped back on the couch. Sara could feel Grissom look at her over the top of his glasses, but he returned to his book before she could catch him staring.

"Can I…" She reached for the remote on the coffee table.

"Sure, sure. By all means," he said. Grissom closed his book.

Sara flipped from channel to channel, trying to wordless strike a balance between their tastes. She bypassed the late-night talk shows and the home shopping network. MTV was out of the question, as was the Disney channel. She settled on the local news and watched as an anchor reported on the weather.

"Looks like rain," she said, her eyes on the television.

"Probably won't be much," he commented. "Usually four inches a year, tops."

"Too bad."

"Why too bad?"

"I like the rain."

"Well, you shouldn't have moved to Vegas."

Sara was silent as the daily lotto numbers were announced.

And then came breaking news.

"A serial murderer was killed in pursuit earlier today," a well-dressed anchorwoman said. "The police aren't releasing any details, save for the fact that the man, described to be in his thirties, was not a Las Vegas native and had committed crimes in several other states. And now, here's Clark Scott with sports…"

Grissom grabbed the remote from Sara's hand and shut the television off. "Say something."

She raised her eyebrows. "Say what?"

"Sara, you were almost…well…I mean…"

"I know. I was there."

He shook his head and sat back on the couch, staring straight in front of him. "I wanted to kill him."

"Excuse me."

"Barzini. When I saw him with you, I wanted to kill him. I've wanted to kill before. That's not what's upsetting me."

"What is?"

"That I'm glad I did," he whispered. "I wish I could bring him back to life just so I could kill him again. I want to snap his fingers off," Grissom continued, his eyes wide as he stared into space. "I want to pummel him until he's bleeding out of every orifice. I'm half tempted to go to the morgue and fire a few rounds into his dead body." He unclenched his hands and returned them to his lap. "I'm a peaceful man, Sara."

"I know."

"'There is nothing more animal-like than a clear conscience,'" he quoted. "I would kill him again. For you."

She bit her lip.

He looked at her and narrowed his eyes in confusion. "You make me…_inhuman_."

Lightening flashed, illuminating the darkened room momentarily. The crack of thunder soon followed. Grissom got up off of the couch and walked towards his front door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," he said, without looking back.

Sara sat, frozen, for several moments. When the next round of thunder and lightening battered her senses, she numbly slid her hands along the patch of leather Grissom had vacated. It was still warm from his body, but rapidly cooling.

Hours passed and Sara paced numbly, still caught up in his revelation. If she made Grissom inhuman, he made her all too human -- too vulnerable, too capable of mistakes, too subject to the whimsy and folly that was human nature. He damaged her as much as she damaged him.

The rain battered the window as a new day began. Fatigue was beginning to catch up with Sara and she felt her eyelids begin to droop. Her feet were weary and her body ached. She trudged back to Grissom's bedroom and peeled off her clothes, dropping them on the floor unceremoniously before slipping between the sheets. The bed still smelled of him and, like so many nights before, Sara fell asleep with Grissom on her mind.

Lightening once again lit up the room before thunder made its presence known with a resounding crack that shook the foundation of the house. Sara opened her eyes and saw a dark form sitting in the chair by the bed. He was closer than the night before, his knee touching the edge of the bed. She blinked at him, but didn't smile.

Grissom extended a hand and stroked her arm tentatively as if to make sure she was really real. Sara lay still and let him touch her. He got up off of the chair and sat on the edge of the bed so his fingers could play on her better. She could see his hair was wet from the rain. Her eyes toured the rest of his body in the dim room. He was soaked.

Sara sat up quietly and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off of his shoulders. She could hear him toe off his shoes. He finished undressing without a word and slipped into bed next to her, burying his face in her neck and kissing the skin softly.

"I think Las Vegas got its yearly rainfall in one night," he told her, his voice hoarse.

"Sometimes one night is all you need."

"Not for this," he said, tightening his grip on her.

"This?" she asked breathlessly.

His breath was hot on her neck. "I need you to stay with me."

Sara bit her lip. "You said I…I make you inhuman."

Grissom pulled his head back and stared into her eyes. "You make me feel."

THE END


End file.
